


The witch-woman's daemon

by Bitterblue



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Monster Blood Tattoo Series - D. M. Cornish
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitterblue/pseuds/Bitterblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyra has unexpected visitors. HDM/MBT crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The witch-woman's daemon

The woman stepped into the light, and Lyra knew she was a witch. She was not tall, her features sharp with a beauty that brought no pleasure to the beholder. Her hair was pinned back with a crow's claw and she wore all scarlet in an odd cut.

"I am hunting shadows," said the witch-woman. "I was told to speak to a scholar here called Silvertongue."

Lyra peered up at her from her work desk, crammed in a corner of the library. Her papers were scattered haphazardly across it and Pan watched from beside the inkwell lazily. Before the interruption, she had been making some progress with the alethiometer, and she longed for the ease that would tell her if this woman could be trusted, what she wanted, who she was. Nothing in the hard expression, all impatient expectation, gave Lyra any answers. A flicker of movement behind the woman caught her eye.

A boy in his mid-teens stood there, polite inquiry and openness in his face. The witch-woman made a noise that was half laugh and all annoyance before stepping aside to reveal him fully. He was dressed in a similar manner to the woman, though his outfit was primarily black. His hair was short and untidy in a way that brought a pang of missing Will to her heart before she ignored it.

Neither the boy or the witch-woman had visible daemons. They must both be witches.

Lyra shifted in her seat, and then stood. She was as tall as either of them, sturdier, and from the look of them she would win any fight. The anberic lights flickered briefly in the room before settling back to their customary glow. "You're looking for Silvertongue? Well, that's me, and I don't see why I should help you do anything."

The witch-woman scoffed indelicately. "Are you refusing me?"

Her head tilted to the side, Lyra shrugged. "I guess that depends. Are you a witch?"

"No."

It wasn't the answer she had expected. 

"Well, then, where's your daemons? Only witches can be away from their daemons for long."

The woman laughed, bright and young-sounding. "The only companion I keep with me at all times is Rossamünd, who is not a human and is all the daemon I will claim," she gestured to the boy. "Now. Will you help us or not?"

In the face of such a blatant lie, how could she refuse?


End file.
